Freelance Mage
by snippetcentric
Summary: Lady Hawke has magic, and is not afraid to use it. A poor matchmaker though. f!Hawke x Merrill!
1. Chap 1: Freelance Mage

A/N: I can't believe I'm writing this right now, instead of doing what I should be doing. lol. Oh well, just think of this being in the same continuity as "Sapphire".

Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to Bioware and EA. The derivative work, however, is mine.

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><p>Carver absently thumbed through a book whilst sitting near the warm hearth of the Amell estate. The templar recruit had hoped to visit his mother but instead found Leandra out for an errand. Worse, he found his usually-out-adventuring older sister in for the day. Worst, Hawke had swindled him to staying for dinner.<p>

He stared at the tall woman across from him and frowned. As painful it is to admit to himself his sister looked and took to the noble-life quite well. He shuddered as he remembered how his fellow recruits begged to be introduced to his 'hot sister'. He shut the book with a soft thud as his eyes landed on a small note on the desk.

_'Good day Hawke,_

_Dropped by to water your plants and planted a bit of embrium. Hope you don't mind!_

_Lots of love,_

_Merrill'_

Carver winced at the 'lots of love' bit. He finally addressed his sister. "Do you fancy Merrill?"

Hawke looked quizzically at her brother with a wooden mug in hand. She took a small sip. "Sure, why not?" she answered nonchalantly.

Carver turned red neck up. "But she's a girl," he sputtered, "and an elf! And a mage! A blood mage!"

Hawke raised an eyebrow. Then it dawned upon her, _that_ kind of fancy.

Carver abruptly stood up from his seat, his armor clinking with the action. He paused for a moment, speechless.

"And a GIRL!", he finally punctuated.

Hawke casually strode to Carver then chucked a similar wooden mug to his hands. "Never stopped me before, I like pretty things." A bit of water found its way to the young man's face. "Aww, jealous?" she chided. "You always had the sweets for Miss Babble Boo-Boo." She then made kissy faces at Carver.

Carver snarled, slamming the cup on the table. Anyone else would have been alarmed with how angry he seemed. Hawke, however, only took it as an invitation for more teasing. She was more concerned with the water seeping through her letters.

"I'm serious, Sister." glowered Carver, whilst Hawke was drying her wet letters with a warm pulse from her hand. This infuriated Carver more, he hated how Hawke used magic for the most trivial things. "Will you listen for once? I have enough trouble keeping my philandering apostate sister a secret, I don't need Merrill attracting the same attention."

Hawke rolled her eyes. 'Philandering' she didn't mind but she hated the A-word. She'd prefer 'freelance mage' but it hasn't caught on. Well, better than maleficar, she thought. "Oh settle down, Carver. I fancy her alright, but not _that_ kind." Her elegant face became solemn. "She reminds me of Bethany, that's all."

A small pain erupted within both Hawke siblings. An uneasy silence pervaded the room.

"A more elfy and unholy Bethany." finally said Hawke, forcing a laugh. Carver's gaze remain fixed on his sister even as she hastily took a poker from the fireplace and began shifting the ember. "Or was it Elvhen, rather...?" Hawke trailed off. Two years have passed but still, the absence of Bethany Hawke tugged at their hearts.

Carver knelt down and threw a few pieces of wood into the fire. His face was drawn to the side but Hawke could see the fire's glow reflecting in the moisture on her brother's eyes. Carver will never admit it but the loss of his twin hurt more than he's ever showed. Hawke rubbed the scar across her face along with any moisture forming in her eyes.

Then she promptly erupted fire from her fingertips, right past Carver's face. The templar backed on impulse and fell flat on his ass. The fireplace bellowed with the renewed heat.

"What the..." Carver slowly drawled, then cocked his head at Hawke. "Are you mad?" His face contorted with anger.

Hawke howled laughing as she offered a hand to Carver, who was still sitting with his ass on the floor. The same hand which she just projected fire from. Carver swatted the hand away and heaved himself up along with the great weight of his templar armor. "If only you weren't my sister I would've..." Carver spat at Hawke, who was already leaning on an arm at the edge of the fireplace with the other on her bended knees, weak from laughter. "UGH!"

The templar recruit stomped towards mansion's hall, away from his crazy sister. He was muttering curses beneath his breath.

"Brother!"

"What?" he spun around, his darker blue eyes bulged out from their sockets in sheer annoyance.

"I'll be with Merrill tomorrow to Sundermount," Hawke said breathlessly. An easy smile formed on her lips. "Shall I make kissy faces at her for you?" Her smile erupted into a toothy grin.

"Screw you!"

"Carver!" huffed Leandra, walking into the hall with a basket of assorted food stuffs. "I haven't seen you in weeks and I find you badmouthing your sister?" She thrust the basket into her son's hands. "Apologize!"

"But mother, she..."

"Apologize!"

Hawke feigned a forlorn expression. Carver gritted his teeth.

"Sorry."

Thus Carver decided to visit _only_ when Leandra's home.


	2. Chap 2: Templar Sword

A/N: Hawke is a touchy-feely older sister. Also, since this is a story, who cares about party balance?

Edit: Paragraph and spacing edit. I'm re-learning this so please bear with me.

Disclaimer: EA and Bioware owns the characters in this story. Derivative work is, however, mine.

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><p>The small party of adventurers trudged the lonely country road leading to Sundermount. Isabela and Varric were walking ahead and engaged in an animated exchange of obviously tall tales; Merrill and Hawke followed some distance behind them. Merrill was going on about the various medicinal herbs that grew around the surrounding hills of Kirkwall. Or something about how she rolled all over the countryside while finding said herbs. Hawke was not really paying attention.<p>

Besides the arulin'holm, Hawke had another agenda: matchmaking. Carver and Merrill. Her little brother had been practically tripping over himself since they first met the pretty Dalish. The eldest Hawke child would have left it alone and an ill-fit, maybe; but an opportunity to get Carver to owe her something (or tease him, for that matter) was too delicious to pass up. The long walk was ideal for building-up her chinny brother. Hawke glanced over to the smaller woman and plastered on a brilliant smile.

"...and here's where I found a patch of spindleweed. At least I think it was spindleweed. Why do you think they call it weed? Aren't weeds without use?" Merrill finally noticed her companion's particular attention. Her usually rosy cheeks flushed in an even deeper shade. "Is there something on my face? Elgar'nan! I didn't forget to wash today, did I?"

Hawke laughed. An easy sound. "No, at least I don't think so?" She leaned down to Merrill's head, her tall nose scrunched as she sniffed. Merrill instinctively tilted her head away and turned redder still, if that was even possible. Hawke threw an arm around her friend's narrow shoulders and pulled her close. "Yep, you still smell like daisies, Daisy." she giggled to Merrill's cheek. Hawke then wondered if Varric had been sniffing the elf, considering how appropriate the alias was.

"It's suddenly humid, don't you think? Rain, perhaps?" said Merrill as a shaky hand tucked some hair behind her long ears. Hawke's eyes hovered over the beet-red girl.

"Perhaps," came her absent reply. No wonder Carver's smitten.

"Getting chummy I see?" Isabela fell behind and joined the pair, flanking Merrill on her other side. "Be careful with this Fereldan, Kitten. She's actually up here because they ran out of virgins down south."

Hawke threw the back of her hand to her forehead. "Alack, my plan's foiled!" She gave Merrill's shoulder a small squeeze with the hand that was still around her then flicked Isabela with the same. "You damned Rivaini, I'll have to settle for your virgin...something."

"Good luck with that." Varric quipped from a distance.

"Correct again, dwarf!" Isabela called out. She turned her attention back to Hawke, smiling slyly. "I'm watching you," she pinched Merrill's cheek. "Anything happens to thissun you'll be gutted before you can say 'templar sword'."

Hawke returned an equally mischievous smile. "You'll have to take that up with a templar, if my plan comes to pass." She winked.

A moment passed before realization crossed Isabela's face and goes "Ooooh." Merrill looks between her two friends, obviously confused.

"Not the best choice, but it should divert Kitten's attention." Isabela paused, falling back several steps from the pair. She guffawed. "Irony of ironies! Templar sword indeed!" Hawke soon followed suit.

Even Merrill cannot believe how lost she was in the discussion.

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><p>"Blasted rain," Hawke cursed inwardly, as she squeezed the water out of her robes. They haven't even reached Sundermount when it poured cats and dogs. Isabela and Varric were ahead a fair distance hence they sought shelter in a closer shack. The mages were lucky; they got a relatively dry cave, relative being to the semi-storm outside. Merrill far luckier, or so she thought. She stared dumbfounded at Hawke while dripping wet herself. The luxurious wet frock which clung close to the human's body left little to the imagination.<p>

"Your fire or mine?" Hawke's question rocked the elf out of her reverie. A small glow appeared from Hawke's hand.

"Oh, yes, pardon! Let me." Merrill rummaged through her small pack and withdrew a dark leather pouch. She gingerly removed a seed or two and dropped these on the ground. She was surprised when Hawke's glowing hand appeared close to her face, providing much needed illumination. The elf crouched and mumbled a nervous 'thank you' as she squeezed water from her tunic onto the seeds. Finally, with a wave of her hand, abundant plant matter emerged from the soil.

"No wonder my garden is thriving." said Hawke as she offered a small dagger to her friend. Merrill avoided looking at Hawke while taking the dagger; the human was leaning down at her with the light held out and her bosom at eye-level. Merrill tried to focus her thoughts at her task and started digging at the roots. "A little moist," observed Merrill as she brushed the dirt from the plant, "But it should do as firewood."

Merrill arranged the stems and roots as neatly as possible and gathered mana to her hands. She never needed her staff for spellcasting unless for amplifying magic, which was only called for in battle, anyway. Heat gathered in her palms and a crackle of lightning ignited the firefodder.

Hawke briskly rubbed her palms together and huddled near the kindling fire. "I'd have used a fire spell but whatever works. Times like these I'm glad you're Dalish, you're really good with the outdoors thing."

Merrill blushed at the praise. "Oh, you're too kind."

Hawke chuckled, her blue eyes glittered in the dim light. Sufficiently warm, she begun undoing the knots of her robe. "Poor sods, Isabela and Varric. No magical fire to keep 'em warm," Hawke commented, completely oblivious to Merrill's sudden discomfort.

"I'm not too good with elementals. Have I told you I almost burned down an aravel once, yes? Fire's too, how would I say it...wild? Ice is no better, I prefer lightning and earth I suppose, they're more concentrated, far easier to control, if I may say so myself." The smaller woman babbled, this time unable to take her eyes from Hawke, who had by then peeled her robes down to her waist.

A thousand thoughts swam in the poor girl's head. She's not as booby nor muscled as Isabela, but Hawke's tall and slender frame was more in keeping with the frailty of a mage. Not that she looked frail at all, she's actually more toned than most mages as Merrill imagined so. The circle mages she'd met at the Gallows were kind of tubby. Maybe all that walking and mana usage kept her in shape, so it's probably the same for Hawke. Not that Merrill has seen many half-naked mages. Except herself. And Hawke. "By the Dread Wolf, even in my head I'm rambling," she hissed.

"I like fire because it burns things. Lots of things need burning. Cold spells, well, I use it to chill drinks." Hawke laughed as she stepped out of the wet robes and set it upon a stone near the fire. Left in nothing but her delicates, her eyes finally landed on Merrill, whose mouth was slightly agape. A fond smirk curled her lips.

"See anything you like?"

"Oh yes, everything actually," Merrill piped before she could catch herself. Her eyes widened and looked just about ready to pass out.

Hawke slapped herself on the forehead. "Shit, now I've made you uncomfy, haven't I?" She scanned the cave for anything to cover herself with. Finding nothing, the taller of the two reached for her wet clothes.

"No, no, it's alright!" Merrill stood up, waving her hands and shaking her head simultaneously. "I don't want you catching a cold. Anders isn't here and I'm no good with healing magic."

Hawke looked thoughtful with an eyebrow raised. "I'm honored you'd think I've the audacity to strip before a man who nurtures a perpetual bulge for me."

"Bulge?" Merrill's lost. So Hawke and Anders... "Human men can't get pregnant, can they?"

Hawke felt the wind fly out of her with Merrill's words. She almost fell down on the dirt laughing.

"Oh, Maker, Merrill!" her stomach muscles hurt and were taut as she threw her hands around her friend for support. The elf forgot about the humor lost and tensed against Hawke's touch. "You're so precious. I wish I could keep you."

Merrill's heart skipped a beat. The words 'you could' formed in her head. She even opened her mouth to say it. No sound came out for Hawke had roughly pulled her scarf away from her neck.

"Hawke!" Merrill's body felt limp as the other woman's hands were already on her belt. She didn't think her friend was _this_ audacious. She liked Hawke but wasn't too sure it amounted to the 'let's get naked' kind of like. Though her lack of desire to fight at the moment seemed to settle the issue. All that's left of her sensation was concentrated in the pelvis, an unfamiliar feeling.

"'Bela's right about you and virgins then?" Merrill managed to whisper. The taller woman didn't seem to pay attention to the question with her hands gone around her waist and removed the belt, finally resting it on her arm. Hawke then looked at her intently, the blue eyes hypnotized the elf to stillness. It might have been magic, at least Merrill thought so.

"Relax, Merill."

Merill could only sheepishly comply as Hawke pulled the green tunic over her head. Hawke rested the wet tunic on her arm along with the belt and scarf. She then rubbed her palms on Merrill's bare shoulders exposed by the chainmail. An obvious trickle of warm magic filled the elf. If there was a Maker or Falon'Din's side, this would be it. Or close.

"There. Much toastier now, aren't we?" Hawke turned her back from Merrill and placed the damp articles right beside her own. "You get to keep your steel on. Since you're not scandalous as I. Nor do I know how to get it off you." She laughed easily and began drying their clothes with the same warm glow she illuminated the cave with just earlier. "Oh, you might want to take your gloves and boots off, the smell of damp leather on skin is _awful_."

Merrill's heart sank. Of course. Despite Hawke's casual and sarcastic demeanor she possessed a kindness rare among humans. Or any race, for that matter. This was the same Hawke who dropped five sovereigns to aid fellow Fereldans without batting an eyelash and considering how excessively poor she was back then, it said a lot about her character. The same Hawke who cheered her up whenever she felt Kirkwall's stones smothering her. The same Hawke who didn't mind getting hated just so she could keep her brother away from darkspawn. Merrill sighed as she plopped her damp leatherwear above the other.

Merrill was then inclined to decide her like was the 'let's get naked' kind.


	3. Chap 3: It was Magical

A/N: This should have been part of the previous chapter but it wasn't. A reason full of wisdom indeed. Thanks for the kind encouragement!

Disclaimer: The characters in these story belong to Bioware and EA. I'm just messing with them a bit.

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><p>Merrill looked over her shoulder and to the mouth of the cave. The night outside was barely visible and the rain showed no signs of letting up. "Shouldn't we fetch the others?" Merrill turned back to Hawke. "That shack they ran to didn't look too sturdy. What if they couldn't build a fire? It's so cold in here and we have a fire." Merrill shot up from her stone seat. "Mythal, they might be freezing as we speak!"<p>

"Calm down, Merrill." Hawke turned over the roasting elfroots on the makeshift spit. She was still stripped down to her undergarments but had wrapped the better part of her shoulders and bosom with Merrill's scarf. She had already managed to dry the article and the elf was only too happy to loan it. "They're not helpless, not everyone needs magic to build fires. If they do then the Chantry would have loaned us lot to every home in Thedas." She sampled an elfroot which seemed just about done. Bland and starchy, but it's food. She continued her meal. "That'll solve the mage problem, Anders should include that in his manifesto." The thought brought a grin to her face.

Merrill, however, kept pacing back and forth around the fire, her shadows danced along the damp walls. "This is my fault. I should have known the weather will be foul today, what kind of First am I, or was, not even minding the weather. I said it earlier, didn't I? That it might rain? We should have turned around..."

The lithe elf was forced to shut up when Hawke grabbed her wrist and seated her to a stone right beside her. Hawke then thrust the fattest elfroot from the spit to her friend. "Eat," she said in a commanding tone she hardly used. "We'll spend the night here. If those two are really as bad campers as you imagine they would have made a run for our cave because a little rain won't kill them. But they haven't so they're fine." Merrill could only nod at the quick succession of words, their sense quickly sinking into her.

Quiet pervaded while the pair proceeded to eat their poor supper. Hawke seldom talked sense and she's rewarded with awkward silence. "Great."

With only a bite left on her elfroot, Hawke ran a hand through her face. Whenever it got too cold, a dull ache always plagued her old scar. She unwrapped one end of the scarf around her neck and draped it around Merrill. Before the elf could protest, Hawke raised a hand before her. "Spare some heat for the raggedy human, won't you?"

"Of course," the elf tensed but allowed Hawke to secure the shared scarf between them. Hawke was pleasantly surprised how the other felt warm and could feel the ache from her nose dissipate.

Merrill, meanwhile, kept her gaze away from Hawke and stared at her meal as she would a book. "Why do you even like me? I mean, you're a mage," Merrill deflated in a self-depreciating tone.

Hawke's brows stitched together. Was that a trick question? She thought for a moment and knowing Merrill, it wasn't. "Exactly so. I'm a mage," Hawke gestures to herself with the roasted elfroot, then pointed it at Merrill. "As are you. Not liking you for that is hypocrisy." She finished off the root. "Or poor self-esteem."

The elf managed a small smile. "That's not what I meant. Isabela likes me because she thinks I have a good heart but I can't help thinking she just doesn't know any better. The others either take me for a fool or a monster." Merrill absently rambled and then took a bite from her meal. "But you, I think you like me, I suppose you do, but you're a mage, just like Anders. You have a better grasp of..." It looked like Merrill's lips were forming the word 'blood', but hesitates. "...of what I am."

Hawke instinctively snaked her bare arm around Merrill, rubbing the elf's shoulders in an attempt to offer comfort. "You give me too much credit. My thoughts on magic are limited to, 'will this kill that bastard' or, 'can I lift that glass without getting up'?" Hawke's jests were rewarded with a soft giggle from the elf. "Seriously though," she flicked the other's nose. "I like you, Merrill. Does it matter why?"

Merrill's face blushed on cue. "No. I suppose not."

They remained quiet for a moment as Hawke gathered her thoughts on the matter. She took pride in being carefree: do what you please, just don't bother me. Sure, she doesn't approve of blood magic and since time immemorial blood mages have just been a pain to non-bleedy mages like herself, and that's the bother. But Merrill is different; she doesn't exactly control others or bleed people to fuel her magic. More than anything she simply used blood magic as if it were a back-up magic source, an enticing thought, really. Hawke smirked. Similar thoughts may have been the start of every blood mage, and she isn't ready to go that road just yet. Lost in her thoughts Hawke's eyes drifted to Merrill's bare wrists, usually concealed by gloves. Countless pale scars crisscross the otherwise exquisite skin.

"I see we have the same problems." Hawke felt Merrill jolt as her cold fingertips traced the scars on the elf's wrist. Merrill's eyes followed Hawke's fingers go from the scars on her wrist to the long scar on her face. "Templars just had to even the odds. If I didn't have this blighted thing I'd be perfect."

"You already are." Merrill whispered breathlessly, looking at her as if in a trance.

Hawke's eyes widen with surprise. She's even more surprised some blood rushed to her face. That rarely happened. If she didn't know any better she'd think Merrill was flirting with her.

"More perfect then," she said and fondly ruffled the elf's hair. She's reminded of her times with Bethany. Maker, she missed her sister. She caught herself smiling as she felt Merrill easing to her side. "I've been learning some advanced healing magic. Healers aren't too keen with aesthetics but maybe someday I can make us more perfect, yes?"

Merrill only nodded in reply and quietly finished the elfroot. She threw the skewer in the fire as soon as she was done.

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><p>"Oh, right. Merrill?"<p>

"Yes Hawke?" Merrill didn't dare look at Hawke now. She kept staring at the campfire. She was already...bothered...enough as it is. She's lucky tonight. _Too_ lucky. Spending an evening alone with the person she has a crush on? Is this how dates are like? She imagined it is.

"What's your pleasure? In a lover, I mean?"

The elf's heart stopped. She's heard what 'strokes' and 'heart attacks' were from Anders and thought she was having one of either. Or both.

Questions muddle over each other and fight for dominance inside Merrill's brain. Is Hawke courting her? Why not just ask? She'd never take the roundabout route. If Isabela's right and she was courting her there will be one less virgin in the cave. Not that she'd have her first in a cave. She imagined telling Isabela about it.

_"Isabela! My first was with Hawke! In a cave! It was **magical**."_

Well that sounded wrong, even to her. She's not a hussy, or at least she'd like to think she isn't. Wait, does that mean she'll put out someplace else? Didn't she almost earlier? Isn't that too soon? She just realized Hawke reminded her of her doomed love yesterday and today she'll bed her? What will her clan think? But what does she know? Predictable is the last word she'd use to describe the wily mage with her.

"I, uh, haven't really thought about it," Merrill managed to stammer after a long while. A lie too. She failed to notice she had shrunk into Hawke's arm. "What with my work and life and all. The eluvian, studies, you." The elf's breath hitched. "...aaaaaand our adventures!"

Her eyes darted to the side and sought Hawke. Even from her peripheral vision the woman's cheeky smile was too radiant to look at. She finally noticed she was too close to her scantily-clad friend hence withdrew herself. The shared scarf dropped limp on Hawke's shoulders.

The gesture didn't seem to offend Hawke. "At least you're not against seeing a human, are you?" Her voice sounded too hopeful.

"No, no," Merrill turned her back to Hawke and was shaking her head. She had both hands to her flaming red face and couldn't decide if she should be happy with the development or be mortified by it.

"You're against it?" Hawke deflated. The deflation was inversely proportional to Merrill's hopes.

"No! I mean I'm not," the elf idly ran her fingers on her chainmail. "Against it." She slowly turned her gaze to Hawke. "It's welcome in fact."

"Oh, good." Hawke rubbed her hands together and held them towards the campfire. "So, what are you looking for? Big eyes? Hook nose? Peg leg?"

Was this the 'playing coy' game Isabela told her about? Merrill could barely hold the excitement.

"Dark, short hair. Definitely." Her green eyes fixed on Hawke's blue. "Blue eyes. I find them very sexy." Merrill paused. She had already said it but she still couldn't believe she just said 'sexy'. She was tempted to say 'a scar across the nose' but that would be too obvious, wouldn't it?

Hawke rested an elbow on her knee and picked up an overdone root. "Wonderful! But how do you feel about strong chins?"

The elf knitted her eyebrows, puzzled. She stared at Hawke's chin. The lines from the jaw to chin were quite feminine and narrow, much like the chiseled marble she often saw in Hightown statues. 'Strong' certainly was not the word to describe her chin. "I don't think that suits my fancy," she answered tentatively.

"I know, I know, they're sort of appalling to look at, but trust me when I say they're good for something." Hawke grinned and began fanning herself with her hand.

"I suppose I could take your word for that..." Merrill said as she rubbed her forehead. Now she wasn't too sure if Hawke was putting herself forward at all. Her brows knitted and decided she'd probe Hawke further. "A mage would be nice."

"What?" the smile disappeared from Hawke's face. "Mages are no good."

"Why not?" Merrill was slightly getting annoyed, and she didn't know why. Was it because she got her hopes up?

Probably.

"Because..." blue eyes searched around the cave as if the answer was on the walls. "You need to broaden your horizons! And you're most certainly assured of mage babies that way. You don't want an all-mage lot, do you? That's kind of a pain, just look at my family." It was Hawke's turn to babble.

"We can't have babies anyway." Merrill muttered. She wondered if she was this annoying whenever she babbled.

"Wait," Hawke frowned. "What?"

Merrill threw her hands up in frustration. "Hawke, you'rANDRASTE'S TITS FINALLY!"

The pair turned their heads and saw Varric stomping into the cave. He was predictably drenched and had Bianca in his arms, kept dry by his thick leather coat. He walked deeper into the cave and found a half-naked human and an immensely pissed-off elf. The dwarf immediately turned away from the scene. "Geez Hawke, when I said 'tits' I did not expect to see yours."

"Ahh Varric. Always the perfect gentleman." Hawke laughed as she pawed at her robes from her seat. Still wet. She went for Merrill's tunic and found it sufficiently dry. Hawke gestured to Merrill while looking at the tunic but the elf merely nodded. So Hawke slipped on the ragged number. "There, decent enough? Where's 'Bela?"

"Present!" the bronzed woman cried, dripping into view. She strode to Varric's side and ran her hands on the wet, hairy back. "Can't believe I lost to you in a race."

"You know it." Varric laughed. He then looked at Merrill, who was red-faced and uncharacteristically quiet. "What's got Daisy to a puff?"

Hawke shook her head at Isabela, who was already drawing one of her daggers and had murder in her eyes. "Hold it, I was just selling Carver!"

"Carver?" Merrill and Varric asked in unison.

"Oooh, right." Isabela exhales and sheathes her dagger. Isabela sauntered to Merrill's side and made a sloppy sound as she fell to a seat. "So how 'bout it Kitten? Carver maybe a tit but I'd give him points for effort."

Merrill felt light-headed. She cannot speak. So Hawke was advancing her brother, not herself. The poor elf felt like she'd been cast from Falon'Din's side to the endless Void.

The lone dwarf smirked. "Hawke, matchmaking? I thought you're into finding your own affections, not others."

Hawke secured Merrill's tunic around her waist with a belt, winking at the dwarf. "That's me, full of surprises." She turned to Merrill and smiled sweetly. "It's just a date, Merrill. Please?"

She just wanted to faint, or die, maybe. Even possession looked good to her at the moment. "I..." The hopeful looks on both Isabela and Hawke squeezed her heart. She wondered if this was what they called peer pressure. But nowhere harder than the disappointment of Hawke not...

Merrill sighed.

"Fine. I'll do it."


	4. Chap 4: Swording Madman

A/N: I am speechless. Thank you guys ;_; Oh, and if you're feeling bored, check my blog for a sketch of Hawke as described below. Same as my pen name at wordpress dot com.

Disclaimer: EA and Bioware owns the characters in this story. I'm just messing with them a bit.

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><p>Hawke discreetly surveyed the mage goods to her right while listening to Solivitus's requirements of raw materials. Good thing the Tranquil vendor didn't care whenever she lingered too long on an item. Sometimes she wondered if the mage store smack-dab in the middle of the Gallows was a lame trap for freelance mages. She imagined templars will clap irons on any non-Circle person who was stupid enough to buy from the mage shop right outside the templar barracks. Hawke may be capable of dispatching a company of templars but she's not going to do that in the middle of their territory. Her eyes landed on a formidable-looking staff and felt a swell of desire. If only she could buy it without attracting attention.<p>

Her conspiracy theorizing was interrupted when an entire company of templars breezed past her. At the helm was a fairly older but very attractive blonde woman who stood out further with the red hood adorning her head. Their gazes met. Hawke put on her most charming smile. The templar only nodded in return and proceeded with the march.

"Sister, what are you doing here?"

Hawke peeled her eyes away from the hooded templar and faced Carver, who was at the end of the entourage. Good, she didn't have to look for him. His face read like an open book, obviously not pleased to see his apostate sister standing out like sore thumb in the center of templar power in the Free Marches. He broke away from the company and marched towards Hawke.

"My dear brother, Carver," Hawke turned her attention back to the blonde templar. She was tapping a finger on her chin as she licked her lips. "Who is that _dashing_ woman? You simply must introduce me."

Carver grabbed his sister's arm and led her away from the Chantry soldiers. Hawke managed to grab the list of raw materials from Solivitus's hand and mouthed several 'owws' in protest as she was dragged off.

Sufficiently away from anyone, Carver hissed into his sister's ear. "Are you insane? You were eyeballing Knight-Commander Meredith!"

Hawke's eyebrows lift in surprise. "You mean _the _Knight-Commander Meredith?" She turned her head back to the direction of Meredith, only to find she had already disappeared into the Gallows. Maker, dashing was an understatement. She shrugged, smiling again. "Who cares about that? I won't tell her of my condition if you won't."

The templar rested his back to a nearby wall. "If I had half a mind I'd introduce you alright." Carver curtsied with much ceremony and bowed before his sister. "Knight-Commander, meet my infamous apostate sister. She would like to add you to her conquests."

"I am so glad mage-killing has improved your mood." Hawke gibed with a straight face. "Used to be your humor was limited to piss and dung."

Carver sneered and folded his heavily armored arms on his chest. "Is there any reason you've come to bother me here, in the Gallows? In case you've forgotten they lock up mages here."

"How could I forget?" Hawke's eyes hovered the area. She watched the several dozen templars lingering on the grounds and glaring hotly at any mage about. Her gaze landed on the mage store's Tranquil proprietress. A chill crept up her spine. "Anyway," Hawke focused back on her brother, "I've come with good news."

A wiggling index finger invited Carver to come closer to his sister. He frowned. "Just say it."

"Pfft, you're no fun," Hawke flicked his chin. "I've convinced Merrill to see you."

"See me?" The words didn't seem to make sense to Carver for a minute. When it did, the templar straightened from the wall with a bewildered look on his face. "You're joking."

"Not at all! I've set you up with pretty Merrill," declared Hawke as she clasped her hands over her chest and mockingly batted her lashes.

Carver turned his back from Hawke and walked several steps away. The older Hawke felt immensely satisfied upon seeing Carver's red ears. "The last thing I want is have you meddle with my lovelife," she heard him slur through gritted teeth.

"Very well," Hawke turned on her heels and began heading for the docks. "I'll tell her you're not interested."

Hawke felt Carver's desperate stare on her back and almost felt guilty, but not quite. Messing around with Carver was far too enjoyable.

"Sister!"

Hawke spun around with much grace and desperately kept herself from laughing. "What?" Her hand rested on her waist while the other dropped to the side as she feigned impatience. "Changed your mind already?"

The templar stepped closer to Hawke, scratching his head and kept his head looking to his side. "...are you serious? Isn't she Dalish?"

Hawke frowned. "What, you just realized that? Elf with facial art didn't scream Dalish enough?" She paused. "Don't tell me that puts you off because I didn't imagine you flailing like a swording madman at her."

"What! I didn't," Carver watched his sister smirk in arrogant self-assurance. He groaned and walked to a nearby wall. He slumped on it. "Fine. But didn't they say the Dalish would sooner slit their own throats than liaise with a human?"

"True." Hawke followed her brother and leaned on an adjacent wall, facing him. "But Merrill's Dalish and she also said she wasn't against it. " Hawke again clasped her hands, now down to her hips and proceeded to imitate Merrill's voice and accent. "It's welcome in fact."

That managed to get a smile out of Carver. "Really?" His brows met with question. "Did you mention my name?"

"I did. Didn't need to though. She finds dark hair and blue eyes sexy." Hawke ran a hand through her hair then examined the fingernails of the same hand. "I'd have to agree with her."

Carver shook his head in disbelief. "She said that? And of course you would, you have those as well." The man scowled. "Sister, if this is a trick..."

"No, no tricks. I swear," Hawke smiled and raised her right hand as if she uttered an oath. "If it's a disaster it's all your own," she threw her arm around Carver and gave his shoulder a rub. "Not that it will. What could possibly go wrong?"

Carver shrugged Hawke's arm away. "You just had to say that, didn't you?" He inhaled deeply and stared at the pavement, thinking for a while. Hawke noted that the angle made him look more chinny.

"So when is this?" he finally mumbled.

"Nothing's set but I suggest soon. Merrill's been down ever since we returned from Sundermount." The older sister frowned and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Her head suddenly ached upon remembering the events with the Varterral, Pol, and Marethari. Speaking of the Varterral. Hawke retrieved a parchment from her pocket and examined it briefly. "Varterral's heart. At least that's taken care of."

Carver looked at her in confusion but she waved him off. "Anyway," Hawke continued, "several of her kin died." She forced a smile. "Nothing like a vulnerable loner as an opportunity, eh?"

"You're an ass."

"Also a philanderer and an apostate." Hawke added curtly with a bow. She pushed herself off the wall and stepped to Carver, leaning her face close to his. "Just send word when you're ready so we can proceed, then?"

He nodded. Hawke walked away seemingly with finality, until she paused and turned her head to Carver. She covered her head with the hood of her robes.

"Oh, and Brother?"

"What?" he snapped.

"Mother forgive me but you know I'll magically crush your balls if you mess with Merrill, right?" Hawke chirped sweetly with a smile as her icy blue eyes glowed with magic. "After Isabela's done cutting them, of course."

Carver felt a cold sweat trickle down his neck. "I know." He hated being reminded his nutty sister was actually a powerful mage. He grumbled. "I suppose you want a favor for this then?"

The glow disappeared from Hawke's eyes and only a smile was left. "Introduce me to Meredith?"

The templar squinted with irritation. "No."

"Drat. I'll settle for that lovely staff over there and the Circle's entire collection on force magic."

"Deal."


	5. Chap 5: Unrequited Love

A/N: And we're back to regular programming. Proofreading myself is _hard._

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, EA and Bioware does. I'm just messing with them a bit.

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><p>Merrill cast the arulin'holm on her bed and the promptly fell herself on its foot. She looked at the eluvian, still mocking her with the lack of reflection. She was tired. She was out of mana, out of lyrium, and out of areas to wound or cut for blood magic. Unless she had already healed. She touched her wrist.<p>

"Ow."

Not yet. She's not so morbid to pick at the scabs either. Her palms were no good too, they're already covered in bandage.

Her thighs?

No. She tried that before but too little blood for so much pain. She could try cutting her face...no, that's a bad idea, even for her. Despite being an airhead Merrill still had a sense of vanity, even a little.

Merrill decided she was done for the day. The poor elf was so tired she almost threw herself on her bed, until she noticed the pointy end of the elven artifact ready to impale. She muttered some elven curses as she wrapped the arulin'holm with a velvet cloth and stowed it under her bed, the only place burglars won't venture into. One tried but a rat bit him. Merrill tried to recall what happened to the fellow.

"Oh, right. Mythal. He died a week later," she mentioned to herself as she flopped backwards onto the cold bed. She stared on the ceiling thinking idle thoughts involving mostly frolicking under the open sky with her clan. One of her clan. Pol.

Her insides curdled in pain.

"No, no, don't think of your clan, Merrill. Think idle thoughts." she bit her lip, holding back the urge to cry. Thinking about it will just make her sad. If she's sad she'd just start questioning herself again and she'd end up not working and just crying on her pillow for hours until a burglar came in or Hawke called on her for an adventure of some sort. If for the latter she'll be forced to pretend nothing's wrong and it gets really _really_ tiring. So just. Don't. Think. About it.

Merrill covered her eyes with her wiry arms and held back a sob. She should eat. Yes, eat. If she doesn't eat she won't recover any blood or mana. That and she'll starve and she'll die and Hawke or Isabela will find her mummified corpse and their hearts will be broken and.

"Stop babbling Merrill."

The elf started to push herself up from bed but recalled something Hawke said while they were in the cave. She smiled playfully.

Determining she had enough mana, Merrill sluggishly dragged herself to the headboard, so that she was directly looking at her makeshift kitchen. Her eyes landed on a basket filled with a bottle of wine, several bread loaves and wheel of cheese. Hawke brought it earlier. "Oh lethallan, Creators bless you," Merrill murmured and soon enough the food basket was floating towards her. She giggled. If the Keeper saw her now she'd be scolded for playing with magic.

Keeper.

The basket wavered and almost fell to the floor with the thought.

"Idle thoughts, Merrill. Idle." the elf scolded herself and returned to her task, or whim to be precise. She managed to have the basket land on her bedside. Still lying down, Merrill reached for a loaf, tearing a hefty piece. Drawing on a bit of mana, she sliced a chunk of cheese with a flick of her finger. She proceeded to eat with little gusto. Merrill didn't eat that often in her house for she always did it alone; it was lonely necessity. She should have invited Hawke to share her food with her.

Hawke. Her only source of joy these days. There's the eluvian but she can't be really happy with it until it's done. Not that she didn't enjoy Varric's stories or Isabela's raunchy company. And their death-defying adventures too, though that brought her an equal amount of horror whenever an arrow or sharp blades find their way through their defenses. At most, those were mostly fun.

Hawke was different. Whenever the Hawke ran her clever tongue, even the most horrible situation became bearable. Life in Kirkwall, her exile, even the unwarranted fear and hatred of her clan towards her. That woman has been through so much the elf wondered how she could still take everything in stride with a smile (or smirk, she could never tell) on her face. Merrill bit on an entire bread roll and shifted to her back, staring once again at the ceiling. She wished she could be more like Hawke.

Why, even the mere sight of Hawke was enough to make her shiver with delight. Those lips in constant smile/smirk, the chiseled nose, and especially those radiant eyes. Merrill idly chewed as she brought a hand to her face. She's not too bad, at least by elven standards. And Isabela's always told her she's pretty, in a "Oh-I-want-to-pet-and-keep-you" kind of way. Her thoughts strayed to the time in the cave. Creators, who would've thought Hawke had a body like that? An unfamiliar warmth spread through Merrill's body.

"Ahh," Merrill exhaled as she finished her bread. She raised her hands towards the ceiling and stared at the blood-red fingernails. She smiled. "I sure do like Hawke so much." It's a familiar feeling, she just couldn't place exactly what it was.

A fair amount of time passed with the elf just staring up at her nails and the ceiling, thinking, trying to recall why it felt so familiar.

Merrill's eyes widened as realization swept her mind.

"Mahariel," she gasped then immediately sprang to her feet. She had a hand to her forehead and had the other to her waist as she paced restlessly in her bedroom.

"But it is, isn't it? No, it can't be. It's just a passing fancy, crush, whatever, isn't it? Oh Mythal, Sylaise, Dirthamen, please guide me. Anyone?" Merrill looked up at the ceiling as if the elven gods were up there.

But they weren't.

Thus, she was forced to rely on her own conclusion. Merrill stopped pacing.

"I'm in love with Hawke." The words felt like tub of cold water being dumped on her naked body in the middle of winter.

She paced again. "But Hawke's so beautiful and clever and everyone loves her. She'll never look at you that way, Merrill. Why her, why? Haven't you learned enough from Mahariel already?" Ugh, that name again. Whenever Merrill said her name she felt like Fenris' victims, getting their hearts crushed right within their chest. She brought both hands to her forehead. She was suffering the worst headache of her life. Merrill sat on her bed and propped her elbows on her knees while resting her head on her palms.

"What should I do now?"

Merrill recalled she had a compilation of love stories from Varric. For diversion, he said. She had never read it, but maybe the answer's there. The elf got off from her bed and shuffled through her small library for the compilation. Not soon after, Merrill was back on her bed and speed-read her way through the thin collection.

* * *

><p>In summary, the collection conveyed one general idea:<p>

_Unrequited love is beautiful in itself. _

"Well that was stupid."

Unrequited love her foot. It's not beautiful in itself or any other glorious nonsense. It's the worst feeling in the world. At the end of the day she's still gaping at a distant love and she's left with nothing but her imagination of 'if only' and loneliness. Just like Mahariel. She was so scared of rejection that she suffered her feelings in silence, but when her friend was gone it felt worse to not even tell her.

"Oh."

Suddenly unrequited love looked prettier to the elf. She frowned.

"No, never again." she uttered with rare conviction. Merrill grabbed the wine bottle from the basket, popped it open and took a swig. She coughed and spilled some fluid on her tunic after the first gulp but resumed soon after. She stopped when the bottle was empty.

"It'll be fine." the red-faced elf mumbled as she wrapped her scarf around her neck, stumbling towards the door. "Hawke likes me. She'll at least," she hiccupped, "give it some thought." Soon she's out of the door and was unraveling her twine, headed to the Hanged Man.

* * *

><p>"So uhm," Merrill back-pedalled towards the door. Her head was spinning and every nerve and muscle on her body wanted her to faint then and there. Thank the Creators for her will. "Thanks Hawke, for talking with me."<p>

_You're like a sister, Merrill._

"Anytime, Merrill. But it's late," She doesn't notice how Hawke had gone behind her and had beaten her to the door's handle. Merrill jumped at Hawke's voice, spinning around to look the other woman but couldn't bring herself to look at her face. "You're welcome to spend the night here."

_Sister._

"Oh, no no, I'm fine." the elf shook her head, still unable to look at Hawke. "I can't just leave my twine lying about." She needed to get out. Fast. Merrill could feel her earlier meal threatening to rear itself. "I still have to return it to Varric."

_Right, about Carver..._

Hawke smiled gently as she opened the door. "At least let me walk you home?"

"No!" Merrill yelled, drawing a look of surprise from Hawke. The elf immediately drew her gaze to the side. "I mean, no, thank you. That's sweet Hawke, but I'm fine." She stepped out of the estate, keeping her back to her friend. "Thanks for the concern."

_He'll pick you up tomorrow. Around nightfall. You remember, right?_

"Alright then." Hawke looked concerned, but didn't pursue it. "And again, don't forget, Carver will drop by tomorrow."

Merrill looked back from her shoulder. She managed a small smile. "Of course. Goodnight Hawke."

* * *

><p>Merrill spent the entire night crying. She swore never to love again.<p>

The end.

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><p><em>Just kidding. <em>


	6. Sister Goggles

A/N: Final chapter up next.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, EA and Bioware does. They're on loan.

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><p>Carver fidgeted before the door in Merrill's house. What in the Void was he doing? He's a templar but there he was, outside the door of an elven mage. An elven blood mage. For a date. He consoled himself with the knowledge that Merrill was not a corrupted blood mage. An especially pretty, non-corrupt blood mage. Perspective was always good.<p>

The alienage's residents started to look suspiciously at him. "Don't you have anything better to do?" Carver snarled at the onlookers, who immediately turned away. Elves didn't look kindly to humans or elves who dallied with each other. Carver was particularly obvious since he had been standing outside Merrill's house for half an hour, looking awkward despite being in his best clothes with a bouquet in his hand. The sun was beginning to set and he had to act soon. "You can do this Carver, it's just Merrill."

He thrice rapped at the door. Several moments passed.

No response.

He knocked harder, this time calling out for Merrill's name. "It's Carver," he ended, feeling embarrassed that he had to introduce himself.

He finally heard some shuffling from within the house.

And a thud.

And Merrill yelping.

"I'll be out in a moment," Merrill's voice rang out, a tinge of pain laced her voice.

Carver winced and unconsciously exhaled quite loudly. "This can't be good." He began wobbling on his feet, bobbing forwards and backwards in an attempt to get rid of the tension.

A gust of wind hit Carver's face when the door swung open. He was greeted with the sight of Merrill, in her usual attire, except for the lack of scarf. Her hair lay in disarray without braids, her usually rosy cheeks were pale and the eyes and nose were puffy. A sore spot interrupted the vallaslin on the center of her forehead.

Definitely not ready for a date.

Carver was beginning to think his sister tricked her. The thought burned through his nervousness and soon a frown appeared on his face.

"Hi, Merrill," he greeted through gnashed teeth. The bouquet trembled in his hand. Carver would have asked Merrill if she had been informed of her appointment but decided against it. He would have just looked like a bigger ass than he was at the moment.

Merrill seemed to finally notice Carver's plight. Color returned to her cheeks. "Oh, I'm so, so sorry, Carver! I was up all night and I don't know, I suppose I fell asleep sometime ago and I only woke up when you called." Merrill covered her face with her hands. "I knew I'd mess this up too, I'm so sorry, Hawke. I mean Carver. Carver Hawke. It's also correct to call you that, right?" She did not notice him sigh in relief.

"It's fine. Just Carver is fine." With shaky hands, he held out a luxurious bouquet composed mainly of roses. "Here, for you."

Merrill rewarded the man with a small smile. "Oh, they're lovely," she gushed as she took the flowers with her arms, almost disappearing behind it. "I have to put these somewhere," the woman regarded Carver while opening the door. "You don't mind waiting, do you?"

"O-of course," Carver stuttered. He stepped forward to follow Merrill into her house.

But found that the door was closed behind the host.

"Oh, right." Carver slumped on the doorway. "Outside."

* * *

><p>Isabela slapped her hand on her mouth, muffling giggles. She was wearing a drab, brown cloak with the hood over her head. At her side was Hawke, made incognito by priest garbs and a Chantry veil. Together they looked like a typical penitent and confessor out on their rounds. After a few pints earlier in the Hanged Man, Isabela suggested that they should stake out Carver's date for 'shits and giggles'. Hawke was dodging the Viscount's whims and was only too willing to agree; so much that she didn't bother to question the origin or use Isabela had for their disguises. Isabela, meanwhile, was just bored. The pair had arrived just in time to see Hawke's brother kiss the elf's door and loitered around the merchant stand right across their friend's house.<p>

"It's sad that I'm expecting that." Isabela whispered into Hawke's ear.

Hawke nodded, surveying some of the merchant's crafts. "I can see him blaming this on me." A particular elven ring caught her attention.

Isabela tugged on the hem of Hawke's robe. "Oh, looks like they're ready to go. C'mon." Hawke looked over her shoulder and saw that Merrill had managed to look more presentable, having done her hair in their usual braids and wrapped her neck in a scarf.

The faux-priest nodded and grabbed the elven ring from the stand before briskly walking away. Before the merchant could call her attention, Hawke had already carelessly thrown two or three sovereigns at him, the weight of gold coins stalled any of his protests.

* * *

><p>Carver walked behind Merrill on their way out of the alienage. Beyond that, he did not know where to take his companion; he had earlier planned for a fancy dinner in a Hightown restaurant, but seeing that Merrill lacked shoes, they will be denied entry on the spot. He also thought of the Docks for a romantic evening stroll, but decided against it because of lowlifes crawling the area during night. The elf's uncharacteristic quiet also added to the tension.<p>

"Merrill, is there any place that you'd like to visit?" he asked, seeing that they were already halfway through Lowtown without any destination.

Merrill snapped her head up, seemingly surprised with the question. Carver almost bumped into the woman's back since she abruptly stopped walking. "Where I'd like?" She looked around and saw that they were in the trader's area of Lowtown, right below the steps of Hightown. "Well, I think there's a lovely new bookstore in Hightown. Do you think it's still open?" Merrill looked up the sky, which indicated early evening. Carver could not place the emotion in the woman's eyes. "Hawke always invited to take me there but I keep getting lost whenever I come to meet her."

Carver smiled. "I know the place." He had frequented said bookstore on templar business. "It's open until late evening, they serve light food too. Want to have supper there?"

Merrill replied with a small nod and climbed Hightown's stairs. "I suppose it's shared between us elves and humans to involve food in courtship," she casually commented.

Carver was thankful Merrill was ahead of him, at least she couldn't see the mad blush on his face. Her unintended bluntness never failed to unhinge him. "Does it, really?" he asked, successfully hiding any discomfort he was feeling.

"Yes, at least I think so," Merrill related as they step into the market square. "Among us Dalish, no one's willing to wed a hunter unless he or she has a successful hunt because they're thought unable to provide for family. But food has a different significance in human courtship, I suppose?"

Carver smiled, always finding Merrill's rambling endearing. "If not I'm making a poor show for buying instead of hunting. Speaking of weddings...how about your Keepers, could they marry?" he asked, his tone more hopeful than he intended.

"Oh, of course," the elf answered matter-of-factly, any suggestion from Carver effectively lost. "Any child from a Keeper is almost assured of magic. Dalish Keepers possess the strongest magic in their line since they're mostly descended from the elvhen nobles of the Dales, and you know how important magic is to us Dalish, yes?"

Carver winced at the mention of magic but nonetheless jumped at the opportunity for small talk. He walked faster to join Merrill's side. "Well, you're almost a Keeper. So you're a noble?"

Merrill tilted her head in thought. "You know, I've never thought about that. The People put more stock in ability with the gift than from which family we're from." She directed her eyes up at the sky almost hidden by Hightown's structure, looking wistful. "And I couldn't remember anything about my parents save my mother's voice." She then looked curiously at her companion."I suppose I am then, like you and your sister, your family are nobles here in Kirkwall?"

"Yes, my sister's quite taken with it but she's mostly used the title to fornicate with the lot." Carver commented with a smirk. He barely sidestepped in time when a priest breezed past him. Anyone else he would've given a piece of mind but being a templar, he was subordinate to Chantry priests. Before he could utter a greeting the priest had gone into a corner. He muttered a curse then noticed that Merrill had fallen behind him.

Carver stopped walking and looked back to his companion, who had completely halted and was staring off to the side. The settling dark made him unable to see Merrill's features.

"Merrill?"

"Oh!" the woman pipped then shuffled to Carver's side. "Sorry, spaced out a bit back there." Merrill's palm rested on cheek. "I thought as much about your sister," her voice sounding quite flat. "I'm sure there's no shortage of nobles who like her. She's so gorgeous and pretty, was she like that even in Ferelden?"

Carver predictably was irritated with the topic. Nonetheless, he masked this from Merrill as they proceeded with their stroll. "Gorgeous and pretty? Can't say. Her relations weren't with nobles but never as bad as now. Sister is, you know," he shrugged, "Wanted. And we're simple peasants then so we had no status to shield us." They stopped in front of the imposing structure of the bookstore. Carver opened the door for Merrill and ceremoniously gestured for her to enter. "After you."

Merrill stepped past him; if she was affected by chivalry the man could not tell.

* * *

><p>"Fornicate? Tch!" Hawke huffed, obviously incensed as she watched the pair come into the store. Carver proceeded to an attendant and seemed to have ordered some food. Merrill went straight into the History section. "He might as well have said 'my sister fucked and screwed Hightown'." Isabela and her were huddled in an inconspicuous section of the establishment, namely the erotica section.<p>

Isabela roamed her eyes about and was keeping herself as stealthy as possible then turned to Hawke. "Knowing you I'd say only the barely adult and attractive virgin nobles or Knight-Commanders." Hawke rewarded her with a sneer. She replied with shrug. "He is right you know. And I can never get your taste. Virgins mostly just lie there. No fun at all." She picked up a book entitled 'The Divine Exchange' and began browsing through it.

Hawke ignored the last comment and crossed her arms on her chest. "You say _barely adult_ as if I'm a dirty old man. I'm barely an adult as well."

"Who has enough conquests to shame a middle-aged prick." Isabela added with chuckle as she paid more attention into the lurid rag she was reading. "Ooo, the Chantry should listen to this, bridge the Schism with sex."

Hawke sighed. Isabela's attention was already diverted with smut. She looked at Carver disappear into the history section. "At least Carver can read something other than swords and bum," she muttered as she dragged Isabela by the arm and stalked to History's neighboring section.

* * *

><p>Carver massaged his temples as he stepped behind Merrill. The woman was already too absorbed with her reading material to notice his presence. Sexy dark hair and blue eyes my ass, he thought. "Got you tea and crumpets. Is that alright?" He noticed Merrill flinch from the sound of his voice.<p>

"Yes, thank you." Merrill slammed the book shut and replaced it on the shelf. She then faced Carver wringing her fingers nervously. "I'm so sorry Carver, I've been rude to you, haven't I? Talking about myself the entire evening." She stared at her feet as she rubbed the side of her hand to her eyebrows. "I'm afraid I've never had a date or much less courted by anyone. Elf or human. Or dwarves..." Merrill chuckled nervously. "No, not even by dwarves."

_Talking about yourself and my sister you mean_, Carver wanted to say, but held his tongue. He shook his head and smiled reassuringly at Merrill. "It's fine, Merrill. I understand." He pretended to look through the books on templar history. "But I can't see why you've never been courted. You're a very attractive woman."

Merrill drew back a pace, a bit more color streamed to her face. "You're too kind," she said, accepting the words with a weak smile. "I see you take after your flattering sister."

"I don't do insincere flattery." Carver felt his jaw strain, once again being compared to his older sibling. "I just say it as it is."

Merrill eyebrows knitted together, irritation evident. "Just because Hawke is generous with her praises doesn't mean they're any less sincere."

Carver's nails dug into palms as they curled into fists. Temper, templar. He has to make a good impression. "I don't mean anything bad by it. I just learned not to take her seriously since I grew up as the butt of her jokes."

Merrill's eye grew wide. "Oh! Of course you don't." Her eyes landed on her feet again. "I don't know what came over me, I thought you were speaking ill of her and I thought how could you she is your elder sister and she's always been so nice to everyone and...and I'm babbling again." She sighed. "I'm terrible at this."

"You're getting better by the minute." He exhaled and started for the small cafeteria. His mind desperately groped for other topics.

"So! Uh, templars been giving you trouble?"

Merrill followed Carver's steps. "No, thank the Creators. I think to them I'm just another elf in the alienage. Not that I could catch their attention if I'm hardly ever out." Merrill paused, then solemnly asked her friend: "How did Hawke get her scar?"

Carver deflated with a loud sigh. He may not be the brightest but even to him it was clear who Merrill's really interested in. Either his sister was incredibly daft or had played a royally evil trick on him.

If it was the latter Carver swore that he will drag Hawke to the Gallows himself.

* * *

><p>"Maker's balls Hawke." Isabela whispered with a hand over her mouth then turned her gaze to her friend. Her face was deadpan. "Tell me you didn't know or I will stick my knives into your belly and twist 'til your eyes bleed."<p>

Hawke deflected with a smile. "Of course I'd answer 'I don't know' with those options."

"I'm serious, Hawke. Kitten might as well ask Carver to set _you two_ up!" She rested her forehead on a shelf and groaned.

"Fine." Hawke ran her hand through her face beneath the veil. "I didn't know. Not until Mother noticed."

Isabela's head snapped straight from shelf. "Your mother? Are you a child?" She shook her head. "This is _so _not you."

So Hawke explained what transpired the previous night and what happened after Merrill left.

* * *

><p><em>"...was that?" Hawke mumbled as soon as she closed the door after Merrill. She could have sworn that Merrill was trying to...<em>

_"Nooo." she waved her hand, not even finishing the thought. Hawke walked back into the main hall and was greeted by her mother's knowing smile. The daughter froze. If there was anything that could scare Hawke it would be her mother._

_Leandra folded her hands over her chest, smiling in a manner quite like her daughter's. "Broke that girl's heart, I presume?"_

_Hawke felt the words punch into her gut. She wasn't sure if it was because Leandra was prying into her affairs or because she had uttered the thoughts she dismissed. Hawke hid her discomfort by returning her mother's smile. "And since when have you taken to eavesdropping?"_

_"I always have, Love. You just never noticed." Leandra answered while pinching her eldest's cheek. Hawke blushed as she did. "I thought you avoided liaisons with friends?" the mother asked after releasing her child's cheek._

_"I can't help it, I like pretty things," Hawke cooled her face with her palm. She then leaned on the fireplace, keeping her eyes on fire. A growing unease filled her features. "Anyway, it's Merrill. You're mistaken." She would have added how Merrill reminded her of Bethany but didn't, afraid to upset her mother._

_"Forgive me for saying this Love," Leandra interrupted as she joined Hawke before the fireplace. "But what your friend said back there? It's a proper young lady's way of saying, 'take me into your arms and kiss me'."_

_Hawke mocked indignation and flung a hand to her chest. "Mother, I am offended! I think I would know as a proper young lady myself."_

_Leandra laughed as she took her daughter's hand into her own. "Of course you are, Dear. But from that reaction I think you..."_

_Hawke pulled her hand away before Leandra could finish. "Carver likes her." That should end the topic, she thought._

_"Oh. Well." Leandra look surprised, raising a hand to cover her mouth. "That makes things." She cleared her throat. "Complicated."_

_"Hardly if I'm not in the picture. Also, I've set them up." Hawke leaned forward and kissed her mother on both cheeks, then smirked. "I shall withdraw before you try returning the favor."_

_Leandra smiled while stroking her daughter's cheeks. "I don't need to do that, it seems."_

_"Of course you don't, if Carver's opinion of me is true." Hawke laughed heartily and walked off to her room. "Goodnight Mother."_

_"Goodnight. "_

_Hawke frowned as she rubbed her temples while she proceeded to her room. So the thing with Merrill wasn't just her imagination, after all._

* * *

><p>As soon as she finished, Hawke felt the pointed end of Isabela's dagger drawn to her abdomen. The pirate's face was obviously not pleased.<p>

"'Bela..." Hawke frowned, a faint glow appeared in her eyes. "Let's not go there."

"It's taking all my love for Kitten to not stick you," Isabela hissed as she withdrew the dagger. In return magic died from Hawke's eyes. Isabela slumped her aching forehead on the shelf again. "Why hello there, I'm Hawke! I'm so daft I can't tell if ladies are throwing their knickers at me and I also ask them to date my brother, just in case. Bah!"

"Could you keep it down? Carver's looking this way," Hawke hissed back, hiding further back into the shelves. She sighed. "Can you blame me? It's Merrill, I see her, I see Bethany. Every time I think of her _like that _I feel like I'm molesting my dead sister."

Isabela looked to Hawke and cocked an eyebrow.

"So you have?" the pirate probed.

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Well durr. She's my type, except for the sister thing."

"And if I remove the sister-goggles, is Merrill suddenly an option?"

Hawke paused for a long moment, all imagined thoughts were plainly readable on her face.

She blanched. And felt incredibly stupid.

"She is."

Isabela slapped herself on the forehead. "Ugh, and mages are supposed to be smart?" Isabela walked to the counter with her smut rag in hand. "What a bizzare love triangle," she muttered.


	7. Society President

A/N: Sorry for the length, but might as well go out with a bang! Thanks for sticking around. I'm torn between a follow-up and moar Meredith fangirlism. Maybe both?

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, EA and Bioware does. Derivative work is mine.

* * *

><p>"Sister!" Carver growled as he stormed into the estate, whizzing past Bodahn. He had just dropped Merrill off at her home and went straight to Hightown to give his sister a piece of his mind. His teeth clenched, brows so tightly drawn together it hurt and his eyes bulged from their sockets. He did not seem to hear Bodahn tell him of his sister and mother's absence.<p>

He crossed into the main hall and roamed his eyes from the banister of his family's living quarters to the adjoining library. No one. With him in the hall was Bodahn, perpetually vacant Sandal, and the family's Mabari. Carver felt himself slightly relax as he crouched down to pet the canine.

The dog whined as Carver gave him a rub between his ears. He looked pleadingly at Carver, tilting his head to the side. The man only shook his head.

"No use, boy. If she meant this, the Gallows is a mercy for her."

"I'm shocked the entire templar garrison isn't here yet," came his sister's playful voice from behind him.

Carver immediately sprung up from the floor and spun around, his right fist flying at Hawke's jaw. It seemed to him that his sister made a feeble attempt of shielding her face when she touched her forehead. Much to his surprise, however, not only his fist but his entire body was flung away from the woman. He landed a good five feet away and bounced off the wall, soft carpet the only cushion to his fall. "Right," he groaned, feeling dizzy. "Magic."

"Enchantment!" Sandal cried, clapping as he hopped in place. The mabari's howl filled the entire estate.

Bodahn rushed to the scene. "Serah Hawke, Ser Carver, please calm down! Think of what your mother would say!"

"Yes Brother, calm down," Hawke said with an authoritative tone she hardly used. "Let me explain and if you're still pissed about it you may beat me up."

"I don't need your permission for that." Carver scowled and narrowed his eyes at Hawke, who was now walking towards him. He rose, resting his arms on a knee and with all his might, tried to suppress his sister's mana. Hawke stopped her approach but simply placed her gaze upon him.

Their eyes locked but it soon became apparent to Carver that his sister's will was winning. Exhausted, he almost fell on his side but Hawke caught his arm. Too weak for protests, he allowed the woman to drape his arm on her shoulder and be led into the inner hall.

"Sorry for that, can't have another templar ruining my face," she said with a faint smile.

"You sodding trollop." Carver spat, as soon as Hawke eased him to a chair. He slid down carelessly and slumped his head down, his chin resting on his chest. Even in his weakened state his anger did not diminish. "I wish the ogre took you instead."

Carver saw his sister wince, but still kept her composure. She knelt in front of her brother and rested her hands on his knees. "Carver, look. I'm sorry," surprising her brother with the sorrow from her voice. "By Andraste's pyre I swear I didn't know. I thought she only saw me as a sister. Not until Mother pointed it out but even then I had my doubts."

Carver laughed bitterly. "Then how'd you know it's such a disaster if you didn't?"

Hawke met his eyes and steeled herself. "I spied on your date."

"You wh-" Carver sputtered, then resumed his bitter laugh. "I'm not even surprised." He stared to the side as he dropped his arms on the side of the armchair. The siblings lingered as so, Hawke on her knees and Carver sprawled on the chair. Only the sound of cracking firewood was heard in the room.

"I hope you're telling the truth," the younger Hawke finally mumbled. "I won't wait for my fellows if you aren't."

Hawke took Carver's hands into her own as her eyes sought out her brother's. "I am."

"Good," Carver exhaled and pulled his hands away from his sister, covering his eyes and forehead. "What do you plan now? Conquer Mount Merrill?" he asked hoarsely.

The woman rested her head on Carver's lap, both relieved and exhausted from their challenge. "I'll stay away if you want," her answer came in a whisper.

The younger Hawke snarled and bounced his feet, throwing his sister's head back. "Don't insult me!" He rested his arm on a chair and slumped his chin on a fist, averting his eyes from Hawke. "It'd never work out anyway. She's a blood mage and I'm a templar." Another hand wiped something from his eyes. "Idiot! You and your piss-poor choices!"

"Carver..."

Carver's fist unfurled and covered his eyes, his face still away from his sibling. "I'm fine, Sister. Just leave me alone," He waved her off. "Please."

Hawke nodded and pulled a handkerchief from her robes, placing it on Carver's lap. She walked to her room, quietly thankful that Leandra was away at Gamlen's tonight.

* * *

><p>Merrill's eyes lingered on the spot between Varric and Aveline. It was always where Hawke seated. Their small company had made it a custom to gather in the Hanged Man after each assignment, giving them the chance to share their experiences and stories with those who were not along with the adventure. The past few weeks, however, Hawke had excused herself from the gathering with varying reasons, either she had parties to attend or was avoiding favor-seekers of some sort. The others did not seem to consider it unusual except for Merrill, who had an inkling that their de facto leader was actively avoiding her.<p>

"Did I do something wrong?" Merrill blurted out, her voice emerging victorious among the party's chatter. The entire table stopped talking and looked at her with puzzlement.

Varric broke the ice. "Depends on who you're asking, Daisy. Those raiders you smashed today would say yes, you did." The most humorous of the bunch, Isabela and Anders, roared laughing. The others settled with quiet chuckles, save Fenris, who only gave up a slight smile. Merrill looked embarrassed and ended up staring on her half-eaten plate.

"No, I meant, hasn't Hawke been avoiding..." she deliberated on what to say, "_Us_, recently?"

"And you immediately think you're the cause?" Fenris scoffed. "How conceited." He brushed off the evil eye from Isabela and Aveline.

"Oh, don't worry about it, Kitten," Isabela wrapped an arm around Merrill's small shoulders. "It's spring! With all the balls going around our friend's too busy picking off every innocent noble available." The pirate smiled playfully as she drew her hands together with a single clap. "That's an idea, we should dress you up as a noble, smuggle you into one of those parties and Hawke will bed you asap!" She took a sip from her mug. "Problem solved."

The rest of the table looked at Merrill, wide-eyed in shock. For Hawke's admirers, Anders, Fenris, even Sebastian, the wide-eyed shock immediately turned into narrow slits of contempt for the new competition. Merrill felt like all life from her body was sucked out with Isabela's outing.

"What? You people didn't know?" Isabela asked incredulously as she banged her mug on the table. "Merrrill's a member of the Hawke appreciation society." She threw each of the other members a smirk. "And probably got the best chance among us, you silly sods."

Aveline shook her head. "But Merrill's so..."

"...sexually-disinclined?" Varric finished with a chortle. "And for a woman too. You've been spending too much time with Rivaini, Daisy."

"What?" Merrill's face turned into a frown as her hands curled to little fists in her lap. "I can't like breasts because I have them too?" she snapped. Not a moment later Merrill slapped both of hands over her mouth as her face turned red all the way up to the tips of her ears.

The dwarf was stupefied, as with the rest of the table.

Isabela's laughter ripped through the silence, her sides hurt from the effort and had to drape her arms on Merrill's shoulders for support.

"Yep, definitely too much time," Varric piped, soon joining Isabela in hoarse chortling.

"I-I don't feel too well now. I have to go." Merrill stammered, pushing herself away from her seat and made a quick bow to the group. "Dareth shiral," she murmured before hurrying to the Hanged Man's door.

Isabela quickly regained her composure and stood from the table. "That didn't go too well." She raised her mug to her companions and winked. "Let me attend to our cute Kitten before she ends up in the dog races again." Varric raised his mug in return while Aveline simply nodded. The other members, however, haven't been paying attention since Merrill left and were debating of their own chances of winning Hawke with the addition of a challenger.

Sure enough, Isabela found Merrill on the stairs leading to the Docks. "Kitten!" she called out while jogging to her friend's side. The other woman stopped walking but did not turn around to face Isabela. As she got close she noticed that Merrill was trembling. Isabela reached out to Merrill's shoulder. "Kitten?"

Still, Merrill did not face nor answer Isabela. The older woman sighed. "Look, I'm sorry for running my mouth back there. I didn't think it was such a..."

"It's not that," Merrill interjected with a sob. She spun around, eyes red with rivers of tears flowing down her face. "Hawke, she," Merrill hiccuped while quickly rambling with grief, "she's avoiding me, I know it. She acts as if nothing's wrong but I can feel it. We'll talk for orders but she wouldn't even look at me anymore. I think it's because I messed up so badly with Carver but what can I do? It's her I want, not her brother, not anyone else," her voice buckled with more hiccups until it finally cracked. "But I'm just a little sister to her, nothing more." She buried her face in palms and was reduced to loud sobbing.

Isabela cooed to Merrill's ear as she hugged her close, "It's not your fault Kitten, really. Don't worry your pretty little head about it." She tried to ease the smaller woman's crying by rubbing her trembling shoulders. "Shh, hush now. Don't worry, she'll come around."

Dim moonlight washed over the pair for a while, Isabela offering comfort with her arms and words, until Merrill's sobs came slower and even, finally allowing coherence.

"I...I hope you're right," Merrill mumbled as she pulled away from Isabela, wiping whatever fluids on her face with her scarf.

Isabela gritted her teeth while her honey eyes narrowed. "For her sake she better."

* * *

><p>Hawke slumped face first on the fine wooden bar of the Blooming Rose with an empty mug on her side. A young boy snuck up to her and gingerly raised his hand towards Hawke's coin purse. When his fingers were but mere inches to the prize, Hawke, with her head still pasted on the bar, caught the boy's wrists and roughly pulled him close to her face.<p>

The boy found himself being glared down by icy eyes filled with murderous intent.

"Don't even think about it."

The boy nodded meekly, unable to speak.

"Now get lost." Hawke slurred as she released his wrist then watched the boy run away to his elven mother, fluid running down his pants. She sluggishly snickered then turned to Quintus, the bartender. "More," she simply ordered. He complied and soon was pouring more wine for his patron.

"Too bourgeois for the Hanged Man now?"

It took Hawke some moment to gather enough focus to decipher whose voice it was. She still couldn't until a hazy Isabela appeared beside her and snatched her mug away. "Naw," she finally replied, her head still down but was then tilted sideways to watch her friend guzzle her pricey drink. "Hightown's out of sweet innocents to seduce but its alcohol's a fair sub. "

"There's one in the alienage you know." Isabela slammed the empty mug on the bar, glaring Hawke straight in the eye. "You know, the one you've been making feel like shit for Maker knows what."

Hawke turned away from Isabela and returned to being face-first on the hardwood. She raised a hand with an extended index, making Quintus produce a new pint filled with alcohol. He likewise refilled Isabela's filched mug. "Can't. Better like this." Hawke muttered as she blindly groped for her drink.

Isabela grabbed the back of Hawke's collar, forcing her up from the bar. Hawke's vision was still blurry but she could not mistake the anger in the other woman's face. "Better how? Making Merrill guess what's wrong is better? After that shit you pulled? Are you so callous or stupid?" Isabela spouted then grabbed her refilled mug, splashing the contents on Hawke's face. "You know how much doubt she has 'cause of her clan, she doesn't need anymore of that from you!" She didn't seem to pay heed to the brothel's crowd which had then fixed its entire attention upon her and Hawke.

Hawke shook her head, sending droplets of wine flying in all directions. The act seemed to have cleared her head, even a little. Hawke mustered all the grace and elegance left in her body as she calmly pulled out a hanky from a pocket then patted her face dry. "Let's take this somewhere private, shall we?" she asked the pirate as she finished her chore, gesturing to one of the brothel's private parlors. Before Isabela could protest Hawke had already uprooted herself from her stool and proceeded to the room.

Left with the gawking crowd, Isabela stomped ahead into the parlor and shooed its engaged occupants with a flash of her dagger. Hawke quietly followed suit and closed the door behind her. "Here's your privacy. Good. No witnesses just in case." Isabela groused, still glaring at Hawke.

"Only Merrill matters can make you this uppity," Hawke ran a hand through her wet hair then shook the same hand, sending more droplets of wine flying. She was actually glad for the wine-bath, feeling more like her usual self. Hawke's usual self is the only one who can handle Isabela unscathed.

Isabela smirked. "Perhaps you're right, Hawke, I am being uppity." She then landed an indignant finger on Hawke's chest. "But you're not the one who had to watch the poor girl spill her guts while blaming herself for_ your_ mess!"

Hawke frowned and flicked the finger away from her chest. "Oh believe me, 'Bela, I'd want nothing more than fly down to Lowtown right now and sweep Merrill off her feet, but I can't. Not with the mess with Carver."

"Carver?" Isabela slurred, drawing her daggers from her back. "You're truly blaming Merrill for bungling it with Carver?"

"No!" Hawke snapped, not bothering to summon magic nor reaching for her staff in defense. "It's mine, all mine." She she raised a hand to her forehead and had the other on her waist, staring at the floor. "Look, I know it seems otherwise, but I care for Carver, he's my brother, I can't change that. We're divided enough as it is. I can't just..." she shook her head and sighed. "...trample on his feelings like this."

Isabela relaxed the grip on her daggers, keeping her eyes fixed on Hawke. "So you'll trample on Merrill's instead?"

Hawke threw her arms in frustration. "'Bela, I_ can't _fix everything!" She turned away from her companion, covering her eyes with a palm. "What do you want me to do, tell Merrill I can't see her because I'm afraid of hurting my brother?" Hawke's voice broke. "I'm not strong enough for that."

Isabela's eyes lingered on Hawke, before finally sheathing her daggers. She walked behind Hawke and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Great, now _you're _crying? The pompously irreverent Hawke, crying? What a riot," she ended with a sneer.

Hawke wiped her eyes with her hanky before turning to face her friend. "And the ever shallow Isabela, talking about feelings?" She slapped the back of her hand to her forehead. "Alack, the world must be ending."

The stepped closer to Hawke, folding her arms over her chest. "Care for advice?" Golden eyes locked with blue. "Sod Carver. He's a man, he'll get over it. Merrill fell for you on her own. Either reject her properly or actually think of your own needs first."

Hawke managed to smile faintly. "I often do."

"Not nearly enough," Isabela gently patted her friend's cheek, their eyes still locked. "You can fix this Hawke. Not everything, but you can fix something."

Hawke stood still, thinking a long while, not even feeling Isabela's hand on her face. The pirate's words made sense, however rare the occurrence was. Merrill couldn't help falling for her, Carver couldn't help falling for Merrill. It was not her choice to decide who falls for who and who chooses who, save for herself.

Was she falling for Merrill? Her eyebrows met as she groped for an answer.

She wasn't sure. All that she knew was that even without sex in the picture she already liked Merrill above the others. The thought of Merrill as something more, likewise, appealed to her very _very_ much.

"Dear Maker," Hawke whispered as she took Isabela's hand, pressing it closer to her cheek. "Maybe I should be following you instead."

The pirate laughed, pinching the smooth skin. "Sure, if you don't mind Kirkwall burning."

Hawke's lips pursed into a faint smile, long lashes fluttered while moist blue eyes focused on Isabela. "You're much kinder than you know."

Isabela swallowed, her hand grew warmer against the woman's face. "Don't tempt me, Hawke."

Hawke winked.

"Got you."

Isabela immediately blinked away her barely-visible blush then slapped Hawke on the shoulder. "That's my girl!" Isabela laughed and linked arms with her friend, leading themselves out of the parlor. "Now c'mon, all this emotion is making me itchy. Hope Serendipity's free tonight."

* * *

><p>Merrill kept walking with her eyes glued to the twine on the pavement, not minding bumping onto other people on her way. She was headed for her home from Hightown's library, barely avoiding late penalties with the books she borrowed. Well, it was on Hawke's membership but she couldn't afford to add offense to her benefactor, given the strain in their relations.<p>

Hawke. Merrill sighed. Even that lone facet of joy in her life was gone. Now there's just the eluvian. The girl shooed away the thoughts. If she dwelt on her woes anymore her friends might start to think elves have a predisposition for broodiness. She just focused her eyes on bright red twine. The late spring sun somehow made the string stand out more than it should from the gray pavement. Soon enough, she arrived at its end and instinctively reached for her door's handle. She held nothing. Puzzled, Merrill finally looked up to her surroundings.

Her brows lifted in surprise. She wasn't in the alienage. Her eyes surveyed the area, landing on the extravagant fountain adorned with numerous marble sculptures, the bright spring flower beds, and imposing jet walls surrounding the garden. An immaculately pruned tree stood at the center. Her eyes widened with remembrance; she was in the Viscount's garden. Her green eyes searched the grounds with panic, expecting guards to arrest her this time. Aveline had already warned her that her next trespass will result in lock-up.

"Took you long enough," Merrill's heart almost jumped up to her mouth upon hearing the familiar voice. "I was beginning to think the twine belonged to a real kitten." She turned to the voice's origin and just as she expected, it was Hawke, dressed in her noble's garb with the usual fond smile/smirk on her face.

"You led me here?" Merill gasped. Panic of impending arrest made her forget whatever tension between them as she rushed to the other woman. "Quick, we have to leave," she implored while tugging on the hem of Hawke's sleeve. "Varric and Aveline warned me that outsiders aren't welcome in here. They might throw us in the brig!"

The taller woman chuckled and fondly ruffled Merrill's soft hair. "Relax, Merrill. I got permission from Dumar."

"Oh! Well," Merrill heaved a sigh of relief with a hand to her chest. "That's good." As soon as her panic was gone, it was replaced with anxiety and wonder as to why Hawke diverted her to the Viscount's garden. Her previous appreciation for the sanctuary from her last visit was lost as she stared at Hawke's shoes, pondering how to apologize to her friend.

Merrill's thoughts were interrupted when she smelled a soft fragrance wafting in front of her face. She looked ahead and saw a lovely bouquet of assorted lilies, held out by Hawke. "For you," she offered, with the sweetest smile Merrill had ever seen; so much sweet that she was able to differentiate it from the other's more mundane smirk.

The woman looked dumbfounded at the bouquet as she took it in her arms, then directed the same look at Hawke. "T-thank you," she stammered, wondering if there was any human occasion or festival she was missing. Nothing. It can't be a gift, can it? She's the one who wronged Hawke, why should she be offering her a gift? She scratched her forehead, giving up her lonely guessing game.

"I'm sorry, Hawke, but what are these for?" she asked, her voice pitching too high from the anxiety.

"An apology," Hawke paused, then opened her mouth to say more, but nothing came out. Hawke ended up looking to her side, away from Merrill. The taller woman was visibly fidgeting. Merrill thought how peculiar it was for Hawke to be nervous and found herself smiling. It was then she realized her friend actually said something bizarre.

"Apology? Oh no no no, I can't take this," Merrill handed back the bouquet to Hawke. "It's my fault Hawke, you needn't apologize. I should have been kinder to Carver, I was a horrible date." She tilted her head downwards and rested a palm on her forehead, easing the dull ache building in her temples.

"No, Merrill, about that..."

"How could I do that to your brother?" the elf continued, the multitude of thoughts blocked out any of Hawke's words. "You must be so disappointed in me. I'm so, so sorry. I mean, I know I can't help it but even if I didn't fancy him I should have been more gracious for your sake at..." Merrill stopped talking when she felt a warm hand on her chin which gently guided her head up. Once again she found herself hypnotized with Hawke's luminescent eyes.

"Merrill, I like you," Hawke began, her words came out slowly but firm.

The words sounded distant, even alien, in Merrill's head. Her already wide eyes widened even more.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said I like you," Hawke began again, her voice not above a whisper. "Not as a sister, but as a woman, possibly a lover. It's fine if you want it slow, considering..." she sighed as she took one Merrill's hands and returned the bouquet. "I'm sorry for not understanding earlier and avoiding you when I did. I had to sort myself and my feelings out." The smaller woman finally noticed her companion's trembling hands. "If...if you still want me," Hawke stuttered, blushing with such intensity she rivaled Merrill, "I'll be the happiest raggedy human in Thedas."

Merrill's trembling lips curved into a smile, forcing the smaller girl to cover her mouth with a hand. Several words wanted to pass through her lips including; 'Pinch me, I'm dreaming'; and 'I win, blighters'; but Merrill, being Merrill, simply chose:

"Could I kiss you now?" she choked out, long fingers touching Hawke's elegant face.

Hawke chuckled as she wiped the moisture from her eyes, then finally snaked her arms around Merrill's waist, pulling her close. "I thought you'd never ask."

So they kissed.

* * *

><p>The end.<p> 


End file.
